An Ally
by Queen Isolde
Summary: [Oneshot] Mel was unconscious and looking like a drowned rat, but the Marquis thought otherwise. From Vidanric’s POV during his and Mel’s very first meeting.


Disclaimer: It's all Ms. Sherwood's! 

Author's Note: To make up for my not updating my various fics (though I know there really is no excuse for it) I'm posting this for you all. It could be considered a companion fic to Dinner Duel, though it does take place earlier in the book. From Vidanric's POV again, and even though it's a lot shorter because I'm not going to add any original dialogue this time, I hope you'll still like :)

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**An Ally**

"Another sip," the healer coaxed.

Granted, undistilled bristic would not offer the comfort or ease of listerblossom, but the woman was showing no sign of improvement over the last few days. Mistress Kylar had added something extra—herbs were never my strong point—she told me, that would revive the prisoner's strength with haste. I needed her awake and coherent as soon as possible. Sooner now, that Baron Debegri was growing impatient for her execution.

The woman sputtered as she swallowed the bristic. She drew another breath to steady the liquid fire. I remembered my last encounter with the stuff, and shuddered. I had made the mistake of letting Russav best me in a bout with real swords. My father had insisted a steady regiment of rest, herbs and bristic would have me cured. I could relate the to the teary-eyed gasping reaction the prisoner was experiencing as Kylar spoke.

"That's it," she announced, more to herself than to anyone else, satisfied at the abrupt awakening. "Here y'are m'lord. She's awake." The healer stood, with one last glance at Debegri, myself, then left the tent.

"Bran?" The woman attempted to speak.

"What was that?" I cut in quietly, before Debegri could say anything.

Branaric Astiar was the son of Tlanth's latest Count, and if reports from the mountains had proved true, he was now the Count of the forested Tlanth. If this woman knew him, enough to call him by a shortened form of his name, it caused enough alarm in me to realize two things: either the royalty of Tlanth knew their people, or, that the prisoner who had fallen into my hands was more closely related to the current Count than simply comrades together in the same cause.

_Then again_, I amended to myself; _there could be more than one Bran in Tlanth County_. But I was less inclined to believe that scenario then the latter.

I studied the prisoner then, taking in her appearance while she could still not identify mine. She was certainly small for her age, thin from the way of life the Tlanthi's had been reduced to over the past few weeks, no doubt. Under all the crusted-over mud, I could see auburn hair. Her clothes were falling apart at the seams, stained with mud, grass and time right down to her bandaged ankle. Despite her appearance, I did give her credit for merit. She was no soldier, yet there she sat. It made me wonder about, and admire the loyalty of Tlanth's people.

The woman's toad of a voice cut through my thoughts.

"Your trap," she struggled to be heard, her voice still too weak. _The trap that had landed you in enemy territory?_ I would have to re-work my plans for preserving the Tlanthi's freedom. The woman's capture hadbeen a minor set back, but I was only now beginning to realize how major of a one it might be. She tried to focus her vision, but I knew the effects of the bristic had still not worn off. "I knew…this would happen…to one of us."

I saw Debegri's eyes flash with a mixture of anger and annoyance at the statement. But even in times of war, I could still manage to enjoy humour where it presented itself.

"Fair enough," I drawled in a careful tone, not bothering to curb my amusement. I remembered all the colorful curses the men had invented when they'd fallen victim to the Tlanthi's hidden traps. "It's happened to nine of us."

Now Debegri let out something between a bark and a laugh that shattered the calm. "Take this fool out and hang her. And the trap with her. Let the slinking rebels find _that_." The barbaric suggestion made me shudder inwardly, but I kept my face smoothed into a bored expression.

"Softly, Baron, softly," was my attempt to quiet him for the moment.

He left the tent in a grumble of curses and complaints, and as I turned to leave, I saw the prisoner's crestfallen face, even with her eyes unfocused.

_You're with the enemy now_, I thought, _but you've an ally yet._

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Author's Note: I know it's dangerously short, but I was playing around with the idea of whether or not to do the scene with Vidanric and Mel's first interview. But for now, I'm leaving this as this.


End file.
